


One shots and ideas

by PuzzleRaven



Category: DCU (Comics), G.I. Joe - All Media Types, Marvel (Comics), Misc. - Fandom, Parahumans Series - Wildbow, Prototype (Video Games), Rings of the Master - Jack L. Chalker
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Drabble, Gen, Multiple Crossovers, miscellaneous, story ideas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2019-11-07 11:28:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 13,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17959631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuzzleRaven/pseuds/PuzzleRaven
Summary: One-shots and ideas I probably won't extend from various fandoms.





	1. Solving the Dilemma (Worm)

**Solving the Dilemma**

 

It was the most notorious prison of all, replacing the derelict and abandoned Birdcage. Defined in accordance with the heightened concerns about rights that had condemned its predecessor, and the security concerns that one person alone should not hold the keys, it was inescapable. The prisoners were there by their own will, and stayed there from their own desire. It worked, they said, the world was getting better, they said, and it was. With appeal possible, heroes had no moral quandries. Even the most pacifistic were willing to take in those villains they knew would be placed somewhere they could author their own fate, and any unjustly condemned had the chance of release. Tinkers could build without threat. Global trade recovered. Science advanced.

The worst of the worst came here, sealed into their cells, the serial murderers, the genocides, the rapists, those who existed only to break the world. Held in the small pocket dimensions, a world to themselves, food generated within, air sufficient for life and comfort, no communication with the outside or each other save once a day when the question was asked.

The prisoners' dilemma: choose to Leave and if any others chose to stay, then the those who chose to leave were free. Choose to Stay, and they would be trapped, regardless of others' choices, but with no communication, no knowledge of other's choices, collusion was not possible. With one prisoner picked at random for the monthly sentence review, implementing their suspended death penalty, to free others was to condemn themselves. Selfishness and pride served as the chains.

It was on such a night that the questioner, chosen by lot from international forces all screened before the choosing for outside influences, sequested for an unknown time before the draw, walked the cell fronts, the question asked, and answered from bloodsoaked mandibles, and hissing maws and far too normal mouths. The answer was so rote, he hardly listened until the last, where he checked himself.

                "What?" The prisoner smiled through the dimensional shunt of the jail.

                "Stay," said Jack Slash.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From a writing prompt about a prison based on the Prisoner's Dilemma. I was going to use the Joker, but his insanity raises the issue of whether he'd be considered competant make the decision.


	2. Concept Model (was Doppelganger)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consuming his prey in a New York alley, a shapeshifter becomes aware of a new and terrifying threat to the city.

In a back alley in New York, he finished absorbing his latest victim and opened new eyes. Tetrachromia, he noted with pleasure as the new ability sank in, quite the advantage for a sniper to see outside the spectrum. It made it much easier to hide his own abilities. He stepped away from the mess left by his meal, peeling some of the gunk off his feet as the new centre of balance took him a second to adjust to. The memories took no real time to settle, so he trawled the man's recent history, looking for details about what the marine had been doing.

Ah, shit. Ground Zero for a terrorist attack at New York. That explained all the troops but, as the stolen memories fell into place, it was irritating to learn they were already looking for a shapeshifter. That would not be a real problem. There was nothing on this earth that could manage his level of impersonation, down to the base level of the DNA. A minute with the right person and he could just walk out or, he grinned inhumanly, even have the people searching for him escort him out unknowing. That never got old.

Settling into his new persona, slinging the marine's pack onto his back with the ease of long practice, he considered the bioterrorists. Tracking down one of the people behind it and eating them for the data was tempting. Military conspiracies didn't last long when he got serious. He finished toying with the idea and discarded it as tempting but impractical. The form would make acquiring his next target more difficult, what with all the guns and bullets and marines. They were still at large, so a useful distraction but no real threat. No human-made bioweapon could affect him, and natural viruses did not stand a chance, so it wasn't his problem. His problem was getting off the island.

Happy he had the feel of the new musculature, picking up the marine's discarded rifle, he began the long walk back to the base. Lt John Anders had been deserting, but with his squad wiped out there was no one to report him. The lone survivor would return, report the horrific event, and get an officer alone for long enough for a truly indepth meeting. Buried under the borrowed personality, he let himself drift. He'd done the man a favour really. After all, no one lived forever unless he ate them.

Two blocks later, he was cursing human walking speed. This was going to take forever, or at least days he didn't have patience for. He listened hard, turning until he heard a tank's engine and grinned as his pace picked up. If they didn't give him a lift they would have a working radio, or better a careless crewman they'd take their eyes off. Almost stalking, he rounded the corner. He came into view at just the wrong time.

Inhuman reflexes kicked in, shattering the mask of humanity he wore as he threw himself out of the way. The tank landed where he had been, rolling, as its turret rotated still firing at something which landed on it, tore the armour open like a tin can. Screams rose. He slid behind a dumpster, concealed himself back in the trash, and watched as the thing with all the tentacles dragged a screaming soldier back inside and the man's body broke down into something obscene. The monster crawled out, onto the top of the tank, reforming as it did: jeans, a grey hoodie, a leather jacket, a human look. Then it jumped, weight slamming the tank into the ground as it took off.

In the alley, Vulture narrowed his eyes, watching the figure run up the side of the skyscraper and away. His plans to leave went abruptly on hold. There was something here he needed to get to the bottom of, and unraveling conspiracies was his thing. It was, after all, what he had been made for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossing Mercer from Prototype with Vulture from "Rings of the Master" series (1987). They both shapeshift, they both gain memories by eating people. Mercer's the better combatant, Vulture's the better infiltrator. Not sure how Blackwatch would handle something that can emulate DNA perfectly and was designed to fool scanners and science a lot more advanced than theirs. Given the ages of the series, I was considering having the more experienced Vulture take quite an interest in Mercer, much to Mercer's irritation - especially if Redlight was created from some of the leftover biomass when Vulture ate someone (hey, at least he'd have a grandson he could be proud of...)
> 
> Now its own story: [Concept Model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278966)


	3. Good Kitty

Her precious cat was at the apartment door, pawing desperately, as she threw the last things into her evacuation bag ready to snatch him up and run. The trains off-world, Earth Gimmel, Aleph, anywhere that was safe, she had fifteen minute to get them both to -  

She'd left it too late to get out. The golden beam lashed out across the city, searing through buildings instantly. As the skyscraper collapsed, Maddie Hess grabbed her cat, curling round it in the hope that she could shield it, that somehow something could survive this. She fell, helpless, as the ceiling came down, concrete crushing her against the falling floor. There was pain, and red, and then nothing.

#

In the rubble below, something cried, quietly mewing as it pawed the still face. It rubbed its head against hers, butting under the chin with its forehead as blood smeared fur. There was no response, no welcoming hand. Not even when light filled the dark tomb, and the rubble was lifted away, revealing the mangled body to the sky above. It butted her face one more time as water fell on the tattered cheek. Then it raised its head to the sky, face filled with blood red rage, and leapt.

#

The golden Avatar of something far larger raised its hands too late as claws raked its face. Its eyes were gone, instantly regenerated from reserve mass as it found itself facing a foe it had not predicted. The creature kept striking, biting, tearing away mass far beyond its size.

_"I find person who hurt you."_

The Warrior Entity's golden beams connected, blasting it away from the Avatar's face, but the creature recovered as quick as the Entity. A red uniform formed on the repaired body as eyes full of malice locked on the Avatar's. The tiny mouth opened, impossible quantities of boiling blood dowsing the Avatar as the claws struck again.

_"I kill."_

Incredibly the Entity sensed a threat as the strike cut through between realities, into the dimension where the Entity's core mass resided. The Warrior felt energy leach from it with the blow, absorbed by the unknown attacker. Immediately the Entity shielded its Avatar, recalculating this as a legitimate danger, and readied for battle. The creature crouched, tail lashing, and sprang.

  _"I good kitty."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Scion (Worm) vs Dex-Starr (DC). Gold Morning gets interrupted. 
> 
> (I was thinking of having his owner in Worm find Dex-starr when he's already a Red Lantern, nurse him back to health and then... Scion might win this, but that means he hurt Atrocitus' cat.)


	4. Littering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As two incredibly powerful forces clash over Boston, Shield bring in the only person who can save the day...

Tentacles flailing, the alien smashed through the Bunker Hill Monument, its involuntary flight arrested in a shower of masonry. Dazed, it barely dodged the shower of acid that followed. Rubble dissolving around it, it threw itself upwards at its grey-haired, floating, opponent. The jump missed, but a tentacle locked on the red uniform, hauling the red-clad fighter towards the gaping maws. Claws slashed, cutting into the tentacle, and the creature hissed in outrage.

Lightning-fast, it flipped round, trying to drive the Earth native into the ground. The Charleston Naval Yard scrambled to evacuate, its preparations no match for the carnage as effortlessly Old Ironsides was swung from the water in a blaze of red and used as a club, batting the pair away from the dirt and up. The two entangled fighters tumbled through the air, out of control as more acid sizzled and boiled, dripping through the tentacles. Below them, the house of Paul Revere did not survive.

With a heave of red light, the tentacles were forced open from within. A glint of ginger hair was briefly visible beyond them before a giant cat's paw made of red light swatted the ginger alien out of the air. It tumbled, catching hold of a church spire that snapped off but slowed it enough for a single tentacle to lash back and send the victorious fighter smashing through the side of a skyscraper. Swearing emerged from the hole, a tone that left no doubt what its speaker intended, and then fell ominously silent.

The ginger-haired fighter pulled its tentacles back, sniffing the air as its eyes peered into the hole ready to ambush at the first sign of its rival. That this interloper would dare try to take what was its. It would teach it better.

The ground shook. Frantically the alien extended tentacles, hauling itself out of the hole and away as the crater inverted. Red light showed through the cracks like magma as its opponent erupted hissing and arrowed upwards to attack. The ginger teleported, its opponent soaring upwards through the space where it had been. Reappearing on the top of the bridge tower in a blatant display of threat, its most hated rival smashed into it with a flurry of tentacles and lights that knocked them both back off the bridge.        

Twin splashes echoed.

The water erupted in red light as the red-clad fighter levitated itself onto the roadway, shivering and spitting. Tentacles wrapped the bridge support as the ginger catapulted itself from the river, slinging itself onto the asphalt. They glared at each other. The blue-haired one lifted a forelimb, licking it. The ginger's hind paw crept forward, scratched tentatively behind an ear. Simultaneously they turned their back on each other, flopped down and vigorous grooming commenced as they ostentatiously tried to out-ignore the other fighter.

#

On the deck of the helicarrier, Nick Fury put his hands on the rail, surveying the smoke rising from the rubble of Boston. Behind him, Carol Danvers stood stiffly to attention.  
    "And that, Danvers," he said, "is why you should have had one _motherfucking_ litterbox per cat, _plus one_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chewie/Goose (Marvel) vs. Dex-Starr (DC)


	5. Concept Model (Doppelgangers II)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mercer taken out and downed in the field by Blackwatch, Vulture seizes the chance to finally meet his grandson face-to-face. He really should have considered his choice of body slightly more.

Concept Model - Part 2

  
  
    "Hi, Boss." Oh shit, this would be awkward. Grabbing for the gun was stupid, but it was what McMullen would do. Vulture stumbled, the chair flying aside, as he reeled back from Mercer and fell ungracefully on his backside.

       Eating McMullen had seemed like such a bright idea. Better than those hunters and marines his voracious grandchild kept using as snacks, and dammit when he got the chance the boy was going on a diet, and a chance to get to the root of it all. It had seemed even better when the kid somehow got himself captured, and getting his incapacitated grandson shipped to him for a heart-to-heart about not getting caught, instead of the kid ending up on some vivisectionist's table, felt like a master-stroke. Except he'd miscalculated. 

    Facing off against an enraged Blacklight from two inches away made that pretty clear.

    "That is a foolish thing to do," Mercer gravelled. 'McMullen' backed up fast, still pointing the useless gun pathetically at the advancing virus and praying his grandchild didn't decide to try to eat him. That wouldn't go the way Blacklight expected, and there were questions Vulture really wasn't ready to answer.

    "You know who I am, and you know what I do," Mercer growled, inches in front of his face. He stayed down, against the wall, sheltering his head until thankfully the virus stepped back. Vulture took an entirely unnecessary breath. If Blacklight didn't take this well then all that would be left of the kid would be a new set of memories in his head, and then Blackwatch would be shooting at him instead. Not useful.

    "You were always so smart, ready to give up all our secrets," he stalled, trying to decide what to do. This had backfired spectacularly. The kid had planned this out, gone to the lengths of taking a fall to get to McMullen. Vulture had just eaten his way up the chain of command, using Blackwatch's belief that viral detectors and bloodtox actually worked. He was beginning to regret beating Mercer to it.

    "So you infected me?" His grandchild had begun to pace as he spoke. It was hard not to feel vaguely fond of the kid as it stalked back and forth, all predatory and menacing. He'd even learned to play dead at three weeks old. Vulture suppressed a certain family feeling. It wasn't helping.

    "No, no. Are you insane?" How the hell to tell him the truth? The kid wouldn't take it well. In close quarters, provoking a lethal reaction from the utterly lethal Blacklight wasn't a good idea. Putting the kid through the wall would start a painful fight he could only win if he ate Mercer, and he wasn't ready for that.

    "But you always were a lateral thinker. Plans within plans." The faint praise in his voice was genuine. Mercer paused, his face impassive, but something flickered in his eyes. The original Mercer's memories might be in there somewhere, and if they were his grandchild might reach the truth without him needing to say anything. Vulture envied him. Even his own creator had forgotten who Vulture had been originally, just a nameless involuntary subject, mind and personality erased by drugs and machines because Clayben claimed it was the only ethical way to make a monster, as if there was any ethical way, and fed political prisoners to keep him alive for experiments. After living through exactly what Raymond McMullen had planned for Mercer, Vulture felt no guilt at all about killing the man.

    The flicker of memory passed as Mercer turned, pacing furiously. If he had only just realised what his creator had done, the kid would be hurting and confused. If he hated the original Mercer as much as Vulture hated Clayben, his mind would be a mess. Vulture could only stress the distinction, that Blacklight wasn't Mercer, and hope the kid moved passed it.

    "Alex Mercer died. He died threatening to release the most deadly virus in history on the people of New York," he said, quickly. The reaction was near-blank, the words triggering nothing. He sighed. No memories yet then, but maybe later. "You died in Penn Station but the virus found its way into your bloodstream. And here you are, filling in the blanks." He actually found himself feeling proud of the boy. In such a short time, Mercer had developed basic ethics, a certain low cunning, and evolved a truly brutal drive for revenge on his creators. Vulture grimaced, finally figuring a way out. This would be painful, but Mercer didn't leave bodies, so that was one loose end pre-tied. Meanwhile he kept talking.

    "We were trying to figure it out. You just wanted to bring it all down. But this isn't what you came for is it? You want to know what happened at Hope Idaho. You want the truth." No, Mercer didn't, even if he thought he did. But then McMullen hadn't known it either, too busy being Randall's mushroom to even know where Pariah was kept.

    Vulture spread McMullen's arms out, to get Mercer's guard down. The gun was heavy in his hands, useless against the virus. "I know the secret." Mercer stopped pacing, confronted him. His last chance, and only one way out. Sorry, kid.

    "Listen, there's nothing you can do to hurt me..." Mercer began, just as Vulture put the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger. Mercer reached out abortively, too slow. Vulture fixed McMullen's eyes open, remembered to slump over, and stopped the body's heart. The look on his grandchild's face made him feel almost guilty, but the kid would get over it. Better than having to eat him.

    As Mercer cursed and ran, Vulture lay still and waited. There was the sound of running boots, someone who heard the shot coming to check on him. Shame to lose McMullen's authority, but the kid would get suspicious if the scientist was up and around after watching him shoot himself. So, Marine or morgue attendant, which to wear next?

     "Director!" And he had his answer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prototype crossed with Rings of the Master. One more section to come. 
> 
> Now its own story: [Concept Model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278966)


	6. Concept Model 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a wrecked flightdeck, something stirs as a deadly shapeshifting predator hunts its target.

Part III

  
The Blackwatch officer slid casually over the front of one of the crashed planes, jumping easily over the shattered fuselage and landing lightly on his feet as he prowled across the carrier's wrecked and deserted flight deck. The evacuation sirens were still blaring, the remaining crew piling into the boats on the sides, but he wasn't paying much attention to the noise as they hit the water. His target was just ahead, and after the last four weeks he was damned if he was coming out of this empty-handed. Without effort he shoved a jeep aside to reveal the body of the monster, torn and twisted. Good.

    "Come on, get up." He kicked the tattered corpse with a foot unsympathetically. The light from the nuke was fading, but the blast and sound still echoed, making him raise his voice to be heard over it. "You expect me to believe that a blade to the head would stop you?" The ruin stirred, limply, feebly, helplessly. He chuckled in amused exasperation and prodded it with a finger. "You came back from a puddle!" It wavered a little. Vulture moved instantly, blurring back, as the claws tore into the deck where he had stood. He landed, smirked.

    "Careful. I'd appreciate you not ruining this rag I have on." The creature growled, standing toweringly tall, and he shook his head, chiding it. "You're the only change of clothes around and, believe me, you don't want me moving in." It hesitated, perhaps more intelligent than it looked without a head, but still mainly hungry. He grabbed one of the bodies by the ankle and slung it one-handed across the twenty feet to the creature. "You're cancer, not a virus. Eat the corpses." Warily, almost animalistic, it impaled the body, plunging the claws of its remaining arm into it. The flesh flowed into something red and warped, as its head swelled back into existance. It took a step towards him, intention obvious, and he sighed.

    He really didn't want to eat the creature. His involuntary daughter had been eaten by his unexpected grandson before Vulture got the chance, said grandson had then blown himself up with a nuke and if he survived might be washed up anywhere along the coast, and this creature was the last chance he had to get anything out of all his work. More practically, that much biomass would take hours to settle into a human form, and once he'd extracted a body that worked the left-overs wouldn't putrify quickly enough to cover his tracks.

    "I was here to eat your mother," he said, his real, inhuman, voice grating uncomfortably in his borrowed throat. The creature baulked, backed off. Keeping his voice human, he threw it another body before it could decide to run. "Here. Fix yourself up." Claws impaled the flung corpse on reflex. It was getting braver, absorbed this faster, and then moved, never taking its sunken, tiny, eyes off him. Loping sideways, it swiped the nearby corpses and absorbed them as its body rebuilt. He tried not to feel jealous: that effortless casual shift-and-absorb was beyond him. Fully healed it crouched, growling something that might have been a word, the clawed arm sweeping the deck in front of it in blatant threat. Lightning-fast, it lashed out, knocked his weapon aside. If he'd been human, his hand would have been pulped. The M-16 shattered. He dropped it, uncaring and unharmed. There were spares all over the place.

    "Yeah, very good. Now would you take the form with the working vocal cords?" Vulture tapped his neck with two fingers. He hoped it took the hint, or this was going to be a very one-sided conversation. It wasn't that smart, actually lumbering forward ready to charge. This wasn't how he had wanted things to go, but then at two weeks old he'd been eating anyone that Clayben locked in with him. Ethics came later: it was impossible not to develop empathy, and an utter distrust of authority, with all those human memories.

    "Now, before you try to eat me-" The monster crouched, but Vulture kept smiling, spread his arms to pretend he was harmless, and for balance if he needed to dodge. "-you could try. Your virus would invade these cells easily, slip into the DNA and start to break it down. And then it would start doing other things, and you'd find impulses in your head, thoughts you thought you thought and know that you didn't. Normally that's when they try to scream, but by then I already have control, and our bodies are melding. If you're lucky you're looking away and don't have to see your body dissolve, but you'll feel each moment as you melt and sooner or later you won't be thinking your thoughts at all. I will.

    "It takes about fifteen minutes to half an hour, but I replicate everything down to individual gut bacteria and resident viruses." He saw realisation click in its head. The monster's step back was a give-away. "As you have your own replenishment methods to restore your cells, I could wear you for quite some years, if I wanted to have to dodge viral detectors and have weaknesses to fire and electricity. I don't." He added the last two words quickly. The last thing he wanted it to do was run, and it seemed on the edge. "Now, vocal chords?"

    Almost suspiciously it shapeshifted, form flowing red in an easy change, and reforming into a grey-haired Captain. It began to pace, circling him at a safe distance, easily loping over the wrecks and craters in its path. Vulture grinned, not bothering to turn and face it. "Better." There was a silence for a while as he let it move, tracking it by sound until it was finally willing to prove it could speak.

    "What are you?" It sounded human, the inflection cautious as hell. Bright one, this.

    "Me? Family. Your..." He thought about it and scowled. "Your great-grandfather." That made him feel old. He hadn't even had a grandchild until last month. It was still circling, still watching for his guard to go down.

    "You look human."

    "I'm good at that." Vulture smirked. "You're not." The creature bridled, and he laughed outright. No poker face at all, but then the kid was all of two weeks old. He shook his head, still smiling. "Kid, you think they don't notice that the clothes come attached? Focus on what's under it, shift into that, and grab something off the dead guys." Humans also noticed when clothes weren't bullet-proof and skin was, but there would be time for the advanced lessons later.  

    "Who are you?"

    "Vulture. What do I call you?" The answer came a second later, the delay notable.

    "Cross."

    "Not your borrowed name. Your own name." The creature paused mid-step. Vulture had already guessed it would not have one, creators never liked their bioweapons to be people. As the delay stretched he knew it was thinking. Good. If it was going to use the form of a presumed dead/AWOL spec ops soldier that would present its own problems, and sticking with the name would get confusing when it shifted. They'd both be finding new faces along the way.

    "Parasite." It was painfully generic, but at least it wasn't Hunter. Otherwise he would have had to eat his way through Blackwatch until he found out who assigned these daft codenames and fill out whatever paperwork was needed to get them changed. His first choices of 'light snacks' and 'damn nuisance' might not be accepted. "And what'd you want with me?" He turned, jumped casually next to the suspicious creature.

    "Oh, remove a few classified files, burn down some buildings, destroy any records you ever existed." The Captain's stolen face moved minutely, in what he hoped was the beginning of a smile. "See if you can vanish as well as I did." It seemed to like that idea.

    "And then what?" it said, the borrowed tones neutral.

    "If we're not going our own ways? I was thinking roadtrip." He slung an arm round its shoulders, ready to shrug off a claw to the gut. It didn't happen. "Family time, up the coast, see the sights, take in the landmarks, overnight at a few Columbian cartel compounds?" Finally the creature relaxed. It was the first time he had heard it laugh.

    "Sounds good," it conceded.    

    "Great!" Vulture said, as he began to walk the pair of them towards the edge of the deck. "So before we hit the road, how'd you feel about stopping at the Red Crown buffet?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prototype (Supreme Hunter) and Rings of the Master (Vulture) 
> 
> Now its own story: [Concept Model](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18278966)


	7. Snake in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duke, taken down in the field when a mission goes bad, finds himself under Cobra interrogation.  
> (G.I.Joe RAH x Worm)

Duke cursed, still groggy as his thoughts came back together. How had Cobra anticipated them? Their battle plan had been flexible, they should have had the drop on Cobra and somehow the terrorists had turned it around on them. Everything they tried, the terrorists seemed to have a perfect counter for. The Joes had been forced back, away from the town, by a force half their size. The Cobra force was only blue-shirts, not even Vipers, but they had fought like elites and their unknown leader was a tactical genius. He thought he had seen Jaye go down on the landing pad as the helicopter blew, and hoped the others had got her out. They had to get out with the intel on this new unit, but in the chaos their squad had been split and he'd been taken down by the gas grenade before he knew.

    He couldn't see anything, a thick material over his head that was stifling him. His head was pounding from the drugs, and there was a new pain among the others in his upper arm as a needle was withdrawn. His arms were cross-tied, above elbow and at the wrists, with the fastenings secured to the chair. There wasn't an inch of give, and the shackles were padded metal, not the easily-escapable ropes Cobra used. Dislocating his thumb to pull a hand free wouldn't work. His feet were clear of the floor, no leverage, and his first attempt to rock the chair showed it was bolted to the floor. Dr Mindbender or Interrogator, he placed a silent bet with himself, and they'd learned.

    "He is awake, sir". He guessed it was a medi-viper behind him, muffled though whatever was over his head. Jerking his head back in an attempt to headbutt failed, hitting nothing and making the headache worse.

    "Good. Guards, take two steps back, and aim your guns at his head." There was a pause as he heard movement and then the voice came again, with something of an edge. "No, move out of each other's crossfire. Thank you." There was a shuffle as the order was followed. "Now, medi-viper, take the bag off his head, and retire to the corner." The voice was surprisingly patient. As the hood lifted, Duke blinked as the light stabbed into sore eyes. In front of him was a blank wall with a desk and chair, far less ostentatious than Cobra usually went for. Craning his head round, he could just see the blue uniform of one of the guards on the edge of his vision. "My apologies for the inconvenience, Sergeant Hauser. I am still retraining the help." Duke froze. Cobra should not have his real name. He could not hear footsteps, but the voice was moving round to the left, well behind the guards. "Name, rank, and number?"

    "Duke, First Sergeant, RA 213-75-7793," he recited automatically, on familiar ground. Without the hood, he could hear clearly and that wasn't a voice he knew.  

    "Thank you for your co-operation, Sergeant Hauser." The voice sounded pleased, and Duke scowled. "Anything else?"

    "You'll get nothing more even if you use the brainwave scanner." 

    "I have and I am." The voice was smooth and cold as the man walked into view. Even through his blurred vision he could see that the figure was tall, unnaturally elongated by the blurr in his vision, clad entire in black with some detailing he could not make out. Someone new.

    "You'll get nothing to tell your Commander."

    "Cobra Commander is taking a leave of absence." The unnaturally thin man sat down behind the desk and steepled his fingers. Duke's eyes locked on the white snake symbol on the man's forehead, coiling down the side of the bodysuit.

    "I am Coil, and I will be replacing him for the foreseeable future. Now, tell me about your team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> G.I. Joe RAH x Worm
> 
> And you just know that at the same time, in another reality, Duke is having his fingernails pulled out while the questions are asked, after seperate carefully timed sessions in other realities with Doctor Mindbender and Interrogator earlier that day, just so Coil can confirm his answers. And he'll be returned to the Joes with everyone believing the Geneva convention was followed to the letter and Duke gave no information because in this reality that is what happened.


	8. Good Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the side of a building, Mercer realises something is following him. The problem with eating it is all the fur, and what would he do with a dog anyway?

**Good Dog**

 

Mercer turned at the sound, but the creature was still there. Panting, tongue lolling. It sat on its haunches watching him. Large white dogs weren’t unusual in New York, but none of the memories he held said anything about them sitting on the side of a skyscraper at ninety degrees to the ground. It didn’t look as though it was infected, but it wouldn’t stop following him. Stupid animal.

            Jumping, he air-dashed to the far building, flipped across the roof and down onto a roof garden, crouching on the edge. He could hear the hunters moving below, his mouth twisting in a merciless smile as he crouched to jump. Claws clicked behind him, and he wheeled, then stopped dead.

            It was there. Ninety degrees, on the glass, sitting, watching him. He snarled, but it didn’t move, inspecting a fly that seemed to be buzzing round its head. With a snap the fly was gone, which gave him ideas, but the problem with eating dogs was all the fur. Too bad there were no helicopters, it would make a great projectile. He just needed to get rid of it and go and eat the hunters.      

            He scanned borrowed memories. Dog owners seemed to agree tennis balls were the best thing ever, but there weren't any near the top of a skyscraper. Sticks came second, and he guessed improvising would do. Something long and aerodynamic, and nearby would do. He picked up a section of broken helicopter rotor, pulled it out of the concrete it was embedded in, and swung it experimentally.

            "Fetch, boy." The dog's expression changed, and somehow it managed to look disapproving. He ignored it, flinging the rotor overhand. It whistled passed the dog's head, missing by inches, as the animal whipped its surprised gaze round to follow. The 'stick' flashed passed skyscrapers, beyond the city limits, and out over glittering blue water before it disappeared. A few seconds later he heard a faint splash.

            The dog's head turned slowly back. It's expression had gone from merely disapproving, to the same glare he'd got from Dana when he'd suggested that some people just needed eating. He glared back, arm shifting to claws. He wasn't losing a staring contest with a dumb animal. Dana would never...hmm. Dana. He rifled through memories of dogs, big, small, stray and pets, and peered more closely at the creature. It wasn't a dog. Experimentally he pulled out another section of broken rotor blade, hearing the clamour of the pack of hunters below.

            "Fetch...girl?" he tried, swinging the 'stick' more lightly. It slipped from his grasp, sailing downwards towards the street and embedding itself deep into the asphalt right in the middle of the hunters.

            The dog's head whipped round, eyes wide, mouth open. With a flurry of excited barking it took off down the side of the skyscraper. Mercer shrugged. It's funeral, but maybe while the hunters were distracted by the dog ploughing through them, scattering them like nine-pins in its single minded quest… Now that was not what he had expected, but rather than waste the opportunity, he kicked off the side of the building letting himself drop. As he hit the ground, devastator erupting, the hunters were already being pelted by a hail of rocks and debris. His feeding tendrils ensnared the nearest, but his attention was on the shower of asphalt fountaining from the ground. In the middle a white tail could be seen waving vigorously.

            By the time he finished the last hunter, there was a mud-covered dog sitting proudly on the road, triumphantly holding a six foot piece of helicopter rotor in its mouth as its tail beat on the asphalt. In the six foot wide hole behind it, a small lake was forming as the ruptured water pipe leaked. Expectantly it dropped the rotor blade, looking up at him with wide hopeful eyes as the sound of tank engines grew closer. Mercer grinned as he picked up the rotor and aimed.

            "Good dog."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Prototype x Okami)


	9. Crashing Out (Worm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brockton Bay is a bright and shining beacon for capes, under the fair and even and controlled hand of Emily Piggot, and the leader of the protectorate, Crash, a new young perfect flawless completely trusted hero who can solve everything... and no one can say a word against him.

"...and that is how, when the Teeth arrive, we can defeat the Butcher and revitalise Brockton Bay at the same time." Piggot smiled in approval as the most valuable asset the PRT had in Brockton Bay finished speaking.

"Brilliant as always, Crash. We'll implement the plan immediately!” There was a round of heart-felt applause and the young man sat, smiling modestly.

“Just doing my job, ma’am.”

“And doing it well. Battery, relay the details to PRT Central H.Q. If you can tear yourself away from Armsmaster long enough." There were giggles at the table and the blue-clad heroine smirked, with one last lascivious run of her hand over the man’s blue armour, and sauntered out of the room swinging her hips. The tinker's gaze followed as he smiled fondly.

Battery had really blossomed after her divorce from Assault, Piggot reflected, turning into a beautiful, confident, second-tier hanger-on, to Armsmaster. She turned her attention back to the meeting, moving to the next item on the agenda. “Now, about the Endbringers…”

“I have a plan for them.” Crash said humbly, and Piggot waved him to take the floor. She'd never trusted capes, but after two weeks of friction, Crash had got her to admit that was just the after-effects of Nilbog. Now she saw them for the valuable untrustworthy individuals that they were. “If we-” The door opened with a crash and Vista ran into the room, pigtails bobbing cutely as the girl skidded to a stop.

"Director, the merchants are attacking the Docks!" Crash leapt to his feet at the words, grabbing his gun from the holster.

"Armsmaster with me," he ordered as the second-in-command of the PRT stood immediately, his halbard extending for combat.

"Stay safe, Mr. Crash. " Vista lisped, as Crash flew from the room, leaving her gazing adoringly after him as the Supra-Alexandria Brute was followed by his halberd-wielding mentor. She slumped and Piggot sympathised with the cape. Vista knew that the front line was no place for a child soldier, and she was only a girl. What could she do to fight?

“We’ll have this handled by lunch.” Crash’s shout echoed back, and Emily Piggot sat down, smiling approval. The situation couldn't be in better hands than the Brockton Bay Protectorate, and she knew they'd resolve it efficiently as they always did. She trusted them completely.

The master stranger button was an inch from her fingers. Her hand would not move to press it.


	10. Living on the Edge of the World (Worm)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> St. Kilda, the remotest of the British Isles, cut off by storms for nine months of the year, evacuated in 1930. And after the Simurgh hit London, the perfect place for a group of parahumans to escape the world.

_St. Kilda, the island at the edge of the world. An archipelago of islands and ocean rocks towering fourteen hundred feet out of the sea, inhabited for two thousand years until the last St. Kildans were evacuated in 1930 in the teeth of the autumn storms and a sickness that killed four. The silent stacks were left to its birds, and its sheep, and their seasonal watchers. And that is how the residents wish it._

The fishing ships were due in, and all bodies were to the work. Moira stood on the rock, overseeing the waves and raised her hands as the dark sea lay flat. The brush of muffled oars drifted over the calm waters, for it was safest in the clogged channels to scull. Too fast, and mariners swiftly learned that here the seafloor had teeth for unwary boats. Low in the water, full- laden, the boats were chased by seabirds and the island would eat well tonight.

                She whistled softly, feeling the air thrill, and on the marriage rock a young man leaned forward, allowed himself to overbalance, plummeting towards the sea before wings snaped open at the last second. He swung out, through the crowds of gulls and fulmers that chased the boats, snatching the unwary and wringing their neck on the wing, slinging them into his bag. Skimming the waves, he dropped a full bag on the sands, and wheeled on a wingtip for a second pass.

                She felt his passage, allowed the air to bouy him up, as the first of the boats hauled to the beach. The waiting crowd surged forward to unpack. Welcoming the crews could wait until all was stowed and stored. Hirta was a harsh island, no place for those who prized sentiment above survival.

                The last of the shallow boats safely on sand, she lowered her hands, let the fog roll in until all that could be seen beyond shore was the ever-present clag that wreathed St. Kilda and the varied wings that danced in it. Shawl gathered tight, she turned to make her way to the beaches, to claim the portion of the fishing that she would salt to take her household through the winter and the excess she could trade for wool to spin.

                The fisherman threw the largest of the catch to the waves. None protested as it was pulled down, knowing it was but fair to share their portion with their safety. The waters churned once more, trespassers uninvited by nature itself though it was a month yet until the storms would cut them off naturally for another nine months, as something beneath the waves drew the water down and spat it out in spouts.

                Without their neighbours' gifts, the island would not be safe. Without the ungifted's work, their neighbours would not eat. That balance brought no masks, no conflicts among the folk here, for all had to contribute all they had to the only battle that mattered: the ongoing fight against nature itself as it battered them in the small refuge from the world they had carved out here in the remotest isolation. And the fight against the world that wanted them to fight its battles instead.

_St. Kilda, the island at the edge of the world. An archipelago of islands and ocean rocks towering fourteen hundred feet out of the sea, the silent stacks recorded as left to its birds, and its sheep and their seasonal watchers who come no longer for the weather forbids. A harsh land, and a hard one. But for those that now called it home, it was a safe one._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was considering a full story with the difficulties of holding the island undiscovered, living in a world with parahumans and Endbringers, and the fact that the residents were all, parahuman and otherwise, running from something that will come looking. The edge of the world might not be far enough.


	11. Crashing Out Pt 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final confrontation between Good and Evil and Vista is forced to watch helplessly as the perfect cape, Crash, confronts all comers. Outnumbered, enemies on all sides, she can only think about what courage it must take for the utterly invulnerable supra-Alexandria Brute to try to take on these odds.

Crashing out: Chapter 2

Vista trembled. After all their preparation, all the PRT's defences, it had come to this. The Merchants were attacking, but it was Oni Lee who simply warped through the PRT's window and snatched her. The last thing she had heard was Piggot swearing to turn out everyone to save her, but if all the bad guys were working together this was it: the final showdown. Crash had warned them it was coming.

            Skidmark and the Merchants blocked off one end of the beach, Squealers huge sleek tank revving in the front ranks. Inshore, in front of the remaining warehouses, the unmasked Empire had turned out for their last stand. The ABB held the ground further inshore, off set on a diagonal to cut off Protectorate retreat, the Oni standing at the front of his troops. If anyone tried to fire, he could teleport and his clone cut her throat before the bullet hit.

            The small, pitifully outnumbered, Protectorate forces cowered behind temporary barricades that Armsmaster had thrown down from his bike. It was a good thing Crash had told him to build them, Vista thought. There'd be no one coming to save her. If only there was something she could do to move the knife away from her neck, but she was so weak, her pitiful useless ability to warp space no help at all. If someone could snipe him silently - but only Crash could make such a difficult shot at Oni Lee's exposed head. She whimpered, tears beginning to swell in her eyes.

            "You monsters! She's just a child." Purity glared at Oni Lee from the front lines of the Protectorate. She burned so bright it was hard to look at but the Empire defector, well-known for her kind-heart and love of all children, couldn't fire without hitting Vista.

            "Let her go or die!" The command rang clearly in Piggot's voice, and Vista's heart lifted to see the Director, fully armed, pointing a sniper rifle at Oni Lee's head. She looked awesome, back where she should be commanding the action; from the thick of it rather than leaving it to some cowardly responsible pen-pusher in the back rank just getting reports and a full overview of the scene, instead of down and dirty in the fight.

            "Release our leverage?" Kaiser sneered. He stepped to the front of the Empire group, as Skidmark did the same for the Merchants.

            "Not until you agree to fight us." The dreadlocked drug addict said, coldly. Crash gritted his teeth.

           "No! She's a Ward, you cowards. Why would you kidnap her?"

            "Because I told them to," To her horror, Velocity moved forward from the ABB's ranks. His costume was covered by a cloak in the gang's colours, declaring his new allegience. Crash looked shocked. "I handed them Vista. I've been telling them all your plans from the start. Every time your plans failed it was I, your rival." Vista shook. Velocity had been foiling Crash's plans. All his plans that she knew of had worked, but some had not gone perfectly. Crash's plans were for the good of everyone. What kind of monster would interfere?

            It made horrible sense that Velocity, the only Asian cape in the Protectorate would betray them. Velocity, the new leader of the ABB, the traitor in the ranks. It all made sense now. He must have co-ordinated this with the Merchants, set up this final showdown for the soul of Brockton Bay. With a thrill, she realised this was it, the forces of evil about to be driven from Brockton Bay completely. Crash strode forward, alone against the four capes, showing the real courage of the invulnerable, indestructible, brute.

            "Who are you?" Crash demanded.

            "That's Velocity. " Vista shouted, before Velocity could quiet her.

            "Traitor!" Crash's shock had been replaced by resolute defiance. "I challenge you now. Combat, man to man!"

            "Agreed!" Velocity stepped forward, casting aside his red and green ABB cloak. Crash drew his guns, striding forward.

           "Be careful, Crash, he's dangerous. " Armsmaster warned. The Supra-Alexandria Brute nodded, locking eyes with the Mover, and stepped into a fighting pose, guns held at right angles in his hands. Everyone in Brockton Bay watched with bated breath. Crash fired, and Velocity dodged. The mover feinted, skidded to a stop by the front row. Crash holstered his guns as he threw himself forward, unable to fire lest he hit one of the capes.

            And Armsmaster's halberd ran him through. The tinker reacted too slowly as a teen in PRT armour grabbed his arm, slamming it forward and punching through the power armour like glass. Armsmaster backhanded the teen, trying to free his weapon, knocking the huge boy down with a snap of bones. Before he could pull the blade back, Velocity appeared in realtime, grabbing the staff and pushing it down, grinding the nanothorns through the brute's heart. Crash screamed as his armour dissolved, evaporating.

            Impaled on the weapon, a ten-year-old boy clutched at the ruin of his torso, severing fingers on the blade.

           "But I wanted to be a hero," he said incredulously, and his body slipped from the blade, limp. Velocity looked at Panacea. She didn't move. Reluctantly, Velocity bent to check the body, pressing two ungloved fingers to the boy's neck.

            "He's gone." No thunder rolled, no rain fell. It remained a cold New England morning. "He's really gone." He sounded unsure of what he would have done if Crash wasn't.

            Abruptly Battery pushed herself away from Armsmaster, fell to her knees, and vomited. The Protectorate leader didn't move to comfort her, putting a hand to his helmet.

            "Dragon. Dragon?" he asked, ignored. On reflex, the knife warped a foot from Vista's neck and she ducked and rolled, onto land that twisted impossibly to bring her safely behind Protectorate lines. Piggot and Panacea were staring at each other, Amy horribly pale. Their glares were nothing to the sick looks on the faces of the Wards. Shadow Stalker was staring at the unmasked Grue in undisguised horror.

            "I'm so sorry..." Amy muttered.

            "It's done." Piggot said dismissively, her mouth set in a tight line.

            "That motherfucker raped my mind!" Skidmark shouted, "let's fuck 'em up!" Vista shot to her feet, expanding the beach between the forces to give the PRT a corridor of fire. Strategically, the PRT were outnumbered, trapped, and few of their capes were up for a fight. The villains didn't seem to be in much better shape.

            Velocity stood up, shaking slightly. "Don't be stupid. Crash rigged this so the Protectorate wins." He looked at Kaiser and Oni Lee, still wavering on his feet. "Endbringer truce? Until we can work out how much he made us do."

            "Agreed." Kaiser said, looking towards Purity. She had dimmed and turned away, her head in her hands. The Oni nodded silently, once. Piggot stood up, taking a hell of a risk in such an exposed position. One blade, one teleporting assassin, and she was dead.

            "The PRT agrees." All heads turned towards Skidmark.

            "No fuckin' brainer. Need to find out what that turd's done to my..." words trailed off into muttering as slowly the battlelines begain to withdraw, still wary, not turning their backs on each other until they were finally far enough out of sight to turn and run. The PRT slowly lowered weapons.

            Velocity was left alone in the middle of the beach.

            "Protectorate?" Piggot asked sharply, and he nodded, dropping to his knees in exhaustion as the teen who had stabbed Crash put a hand out to support him. "And who the hell are you?"

            "Browbeat, ma'am," the teen said.


	12. Galvanising the Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the "Galvanising the Union" One shot if Taylor didn't trigger.

"Taylor? Taylor?" His daughter was sitting on the steps shivering. He got his coat, put it round her, and hugged her tight. "It's going to be fine."

            “What happened? Did I-” she was looking at her hands. Danny hugged her close.

            “She tripped on the step and fell right into the light,” he lied, easily. There would be time to set things right later, when the corpse was safely gone.

            “She shot me.” Taylor’s voice was vague, disbelieving, and Danny grimaced. He’d been making Taylor invulnerable every day since he’d been told she had to go back to Winslow. Now it was the only reason she was still alive. If he had lost her…

            “She missed.”

            "She’s..." _She's dead. Good._ He finished the thought vindictively. The heroes had just tried to kill his little girl. He'd lost Annette, he'd burn the city down before he let them touch Taylor. Taylor, who was shaking in his arms.

            "She can't hurt you any more," he said, vague suspicion forming. If unmasking rules still applied to dead capes, he didn't care. He walked over anyway, yanked the mask off her face.

            "Son of a motherfucking bitch!" Sophia Hess was charred, eyeballs burned black, but still clearly recogniseable as the same bullying bitch from the school meeting. Had this been a Protectorate matter? Had they been targetting his family to drive him out, hurting his daughter to get to him? Or just sacrificing one of the little people to keep their pet psychopath happy? He saw red.

            "Dad, is that Sophia?" Taylor was standing next to him, staring.

            "Yeah."

            "So that's why the school..." She stared, stunned. Then she kicked the corpse in the head. He had to drag her off it as she kicked out again and again. He was going to kill the fucking P.R.T.

A brief fantasy intruded: "Why no Officer, Sophia Hess attacked my daughter. She's been bullying her at school. Mask? What mask? No she was wearing that costume and using a crossbow, but she didn't have a mask and didn't show any powers. Must’ve been trying to frame a Ward." And making sure that got to his friend in the media, leaving the PRT to cover that up and try to claim jurisdiction without outing Hess. It was too likely they would manage, and he would just be painting a target on his back. Quickly he threw an old tarp over the corpse, tipping the garbage can over it. It would cover the smell and any animals it attracted until he could dispose of the body.

"Taylor go inside." She hesitated, but he guided her in, hands on her shoulders, boosting her invulnerability again as he did. There might be other heroes about. Taylor was still pale, staring at nothing. Hot sweet tea was good for shock, a dose of alcohol helped it along. He’d broken worse laws tonight. Leaving her to sit as the water boiled, he pulled out gloves and tools, choosing the ones that were hardest to identify, and useable to fix steps. An alibi was essential.

            Shadow Stalker was a Ward. Pile the corpse into the car and drop her off the docks and they’d find her in seconds, and then him. There would be thinkers and tinker-tech to fool. He needed deniability, and right now he needed people. Friends who'd help him move a body, especially a Ward's body, were in short supply. Up until last week he'd have called Alan Barnes. He picked up the phone. Time to find out how good a friend Kurt was.

_#_

 

            “The hell?” Kurt was staring at the shattered crossbow bolt on the backsteps and Danny kept his face level. He’d made the mistake, he’d exploit it, and if it failed, he had a knife in his back pocket.

"You know Taylor was hospitalised?" Danny said, staring at the ruined steps.

            "Yeah." Kurt grimaced, sympathetically. It took a good friend to be over in thirty minutes. Kurt and Lacey had made it in fifteen.

            "Bitch who put her there came back to finish the job." He turned back part of the tarp to show Shadow Stalker’s charred face. "Ran into an electric wire."

            "You have to call the police," Kurt said, appalled. "That's-"

            "I can't." Danny caught his hand before Kurt could start to reach for his cellphone. "Turns out the PRT were covering this up. You know the lousy settlement?"

            "Why would - oh _hell._ " Kurt pulled the blanket lower, saw the edge of the costume and blanched. Danny gripped the shiv in his back pocket lightly in gloved fingers, and Kurt had his back turned as he looked at the mess. As Kurt wavered, he played it out anyway. He’d been a docker too long, struck with words before the knife.

            "She gloated, Kurt. The PRT knew what she's been doing, and didn't care. As long as she brought in the villains, they'd serve Taylor to her on a plate. You call the police, Taylor and I both vanish."

            "No, you both get slammed into jail forever or the death penalty for killing a Ward. With Annette's background, and all." Danny smiled despite himself. Lustrum had been furious when her fervent supporter and confidant left her for a man. The radical had found out the hard way that he didn't share what was his. Getting her blessing for the wedding had been difficult, and grudging, but the card had been there, addressed to Annette only. God knows how his wife had done it. If she hadn't been birdcaged, perhaps Taylor's godmother would have been some help in this situation.

            Kurt flipped the blanket back with the turn of his boot.

            "Here's what we're going to do. You get Taylor to the hospital. Say she banged her head when the step broke. I'll get some guys round to deal with the step, and we'll dump the rubbish."

            Danny nodded. He had the man. "Some guys?"

            "Alex, Lacey." The firebrand anti-government official he could understand, but Lacey wasn't good at building.

            "Have Lacey take Taylor to the hospital. I'll help you," he said, knowing it would be a mistake to leave his daughter's side. Needles would bend on Taylor’s invulnerable skin, but he wasn’t going to leave her vulnerable for longer than he had to.

            "No, you need to be visible," Kurt said, and Danny wondered how much of Kurt's mispent youth was coming back.

            "Thanks. What are you going to-"

            "Don't ask." Danny nodded. Plausible deniability was the name of the game.


	13. Galvanic Movements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing the "Galvanising the Union" one-shot if Taylor had triggered in the locker.

"Taylor? Taylor?" His daughter was sitting on the steps, far too still, her eyes glassy and far away. He got his coat, put it round her, and hugged her tight. "It's going to be fine."

            "She’s..." _She's dead. Good._ He finished the thought vindictively. The heroes had just tried to kill his little girl. He'd lost Annette, he'd burn the city down before he let them touch Taylor. Taylor, who was frozen in his arms.

            "She can't hurt you any more," he said, taking a sick pleasure in the death of the Ward who’d zip-tied his concussed daughter at the word of Emma Barnes, the bully and her little friends... He swore outloud, and Taylor jumped jerkily in his arms. Unmasking rules applied to dead capes, but if he’d been one for rules, he’d never have been Birdcaged-bound. He walked over anyway, yanked the mask off the corpse.

            "Son of a motherfucking bitch!" Sophia Hess was charred, eyeballs burned black, insects already crawling over her face, but still clearly recogniseable as the same bullying bitch from the school meeting. Had this been a Protectorate matter? Had they been targetting his family to drive him out, hurting his daughter to get to him? Or just sacrificing one of the little people to keep their pet psychopath happy? He saw red.

            "Sophia." Taylor’s voice broke. He hadn’t heard her move, but she was standing behind to him, frozen, his coat discarded on the step. The silence was so deep he could hear the insects buzzing.

            "Yeah." He’d go to the media, get this to go viral, but the P.R.T. would just shut him down or look at his family too closely. Rage and frustration burned. He’d got his daughter back for one awkward visit after she walked out because of the bitch on the ground, even if all she came back for were clothes and memories, and now he couldn’t do anything to keep her safe.

            "So that's why the school..." Her voice was unnaturally flat.

            “Yeah.” He looked aback at the broken step, saw that the light had shattered as he idly batted away the frantic swarm of moths that surrounded them, ignoring the exposed glowing filament. Several had settled into Taylor’s hair. A grim suspicion formed.

            "Taylor, in the locker, did you-?" The words stuck in his throat. She looked up, shaking her head unconvincingly as the insects buzzed more furiously. “You triggered. You got powers.” He wasn’t asking. He was going to kill the fucking P.R.T.

"Yes." She squared her shoulders. How had he failed her this badly? "In the locker."

            "Skitter. You're Skitter." She nodded, guardedly. So the P.R.T. had tried to hit her at home, no kill order, no nothing, just a single operative with a ranged weapon straight out of his own playbook. They couldn’t know about him, or they’d have killed him first. He kicked the corpse with a foot.

“We need to get rid of this.” Calling the police was unthinkable: his daughter, his Skitter, had killed a Ward. The swirling clouds of insects swarmed and buzzed around her, and then cloud descended and began to feed.

"I'll handle this. Go inside." Her voice was flat and unemotional as she dismissed him utterly, lifting a phone from her pocket. He stared as she dialled. Who the hell could she be calling, and then it hit him hard.

"Your new friends." The ones she’d run away from him for? She didn’t answer. “Taylor?” His voice was weak even to his own ears as he watched the thing that twitched and buzzed on the ground. Where had insect control come from? Unless Annette had been holding out on him, but he knew Taylor was his. They’d sent a copy of the DNA test to her godmother to prove it.

            “Go inside,” she said again, putting the phone away. He obeyed the flat voice, hating himself. It was easy to identify them now he knew: The Undersiders. A cheap disposable team of mooks. He’d used similar for dumb muscle and distraction back in the day, and someone would be using these. The Undersiders had a Thinker. Going near them was too great a risk he’d be outed. She’d taken after him, and Annette’s little girl, and he felt nothing, not pride, not even failure. He should have been the one training her, not some second-tier wastes.

            “Mind the light,” he said, futily. She nodded without even looking round.

#

He hid inside, watched from the window as his daughter’s so-called friends cleaned up what was left. The tall dark skinned man had to be Grue. He was shovelling the bones into a bag with gloved hands, ignoring the insects that still feasted on them. The blonde, the Thinker, looked up at the window and he stepped back. Never give a Thinker information. When he peered again, the blonde wasn’t smiling, had a hand on Taylor’s shoulder and was saying something he couldn’t hear. It cut him to the bone as he watched the girl give the support he couldn’t because she was there. They finished quickly, Grue throwing the bag into the trunk of the car. Without a backward glance, his Taylor climbed into the back seat with the blonde Thinker, and the car started.

            He watched from the window as the most valuable thing in his life walked out of it. What was left of Danny Hebert died.


	14. Keep It Inside (Worm Horror)

"I could-" Panacea offered, her hand extended towards the injured leg.

   "No." Piggot snapped, batting the healer's hand away with the clothed back of her forearm. Panacea stepped back, glowering but wise enough not to say more. Piggot glared at the EMT by her leg, who had paused patching the shrapnel damage. He picked up the tweezers, pulling another pieces of shrapnel out, his lips pressed tight and disapproving. As long as he did his job, Piggot didn't care. Her decision to refuse parahuman healing was on record.

    "Panacea, stop staring and get to triage. That bomb hit a civilian centre." She rounded on the girl, and then visibly throttled herself back. The white clad cape nodded once as if she didn't trust herself to speak and stalked off. She pulled out her radio and called in. "Rennick, take over here. Bomb blast at the mall. I took shrapnel to the leg." She raised her voice as the EMT began to apply the bandages. "I want Bakuda's head. Get me a kill order." With Panacea visibly treating victims, things were finally getting under control as the PRT began to sort through the wreckage. "No, I'll be on base. Dialysis." The bandages were finally finished, and she tugged her tattered skirt down over them. The EMT tried to lift her and she shook him off. He glared.

    "You'll need crutches and-" Snatching the two aluminium poles, she levered herself up with the aid of long experience and cut him off, her voice cold.

    "Will that be all?"

    "Yes, ma'am. You're overdue for-"

    "I am aware. See to the other casualties. I'll be in my office." The last words were grated but the medic said nothing, aware of what a sore subject Piggot's dialysis was. The entire PRT knew better than to bring it up.

    She limped to the cordon, requisitioned a car to get her back to PRT headquarters slower than she'd like. Finally back, she crutched into the office, hit the privacy button to disable monitoring before she collapsed on the office couch, hooking the dialysis machine up with practiced ease. Finally she could relax, difficult as the city imploded around her, but she had no choice. Emily Piggot's breathing slowed, heartrate dropping as her body turned on its side and stopped moving.

    There was the sound of the rustle of cloth as something moved under the blouse. The light material lifted, ratcheted up as each vertebrae extended from the skin from the waist up to the neck. With a sound like a zipper, her back opened down its new perforations.

    The pooka climbed out and stretched. Time to report to Nilbog, and find some new flesh to repair its skin suit.     
    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What happens if Piggot didn't survive Ellisberg? Assumes Nilbog could make something that fools thinkers, and she's probably been or been home to generations of these things.


	15. Coiled Cobra: Hiring Decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Coil encounters a small problem with splitting reality: when someone decides to kill you in both and is good enough to do it.

**Hiring Decisions**

  
Storm Shadow ghosted down the corridor, sliding passed the eye-beams as they tracked across. Laser grids were complex, but not difficult to avoid in the strangely empty base.

    His target had no guards, relying entirely on automated defences. The ninja's well-honed instincts flared, expecting a trap. That wasn't a reason to be worried, but due concern was wise. Only a fool sprung the snare without testing its strength first.

    The camera arced and he darted from blind-spot to blind-spot, sweeping the stolen keycard through the door lock and rolling through before the camera could catch the door closing. Steel rustled on wood as sword slid free of scabbard. Three shurikens slipped between his trailing fingers.

    His target was seated behind the desk, hands flat on the table, feet clearly spaced, looking straight at him. Despite his nearly unnatural thinness, accentuated by the black bodysuit, the tall man was ex-military. The trap was here. No emergency buttons, by hands or feet. No guards. No gas vents.

    "You have been ordered to kill me," the man said urbanely. His heart rate had hardly raised. The target was confident in his precautions.  Storm Shadow assessed the room again. The target was not a ninja. A concealed zipper by the ankle and the costume stretched slightly as if worn by another. A body double? "But there is nothing in your orders to stop you listening to me first. No tricks." The man's heart rate was stable. No body double should have had this calm confidence.

    "Threats? A hostage situation?" Storm Shadow asked, stalking sideways, getting a clear shot with the shuriken.

    "The Hard Master was killed by Zartan. Cobra Commander knows and is covering it." Storm Shadow stopped still. It should have been a transparent ploy, but the Ear That Sees detected no lie in the words. The man was showing no extra stress, other than that of knowing his death was imminent.

    "Do you have proof?" he asked, and the man replied smoothly, relaxing minutely.

    "Do I have five minutes?"

#

Thomas Calvert stumbled into Hawk's office, exhausted and unshaven, and drew himself up for a salute.

    "Lieutenant? Report." Hawk's genuine concern came across, and Calvert reflected that the General was a better commander than any of the Cobra team. The pit's security was better than his, and as for his own... He'd thought that behind every layer of security he could manage he would be safe. The ninja would be brought down, and then - that reality had ended abruptly.

    "I had to ex-fil. Cobra Commander was onto me. He sent Storm Shadow to kill me." Hawk hit the intercom.

    "Flint, put the base on alert for infiltration. Expect Storm Shadow." Organised and efficient. A pity he was not amenable to subversion.

    "I can't stop him." Researching Storm Shadow's history should have helped, but the first time he'd tried using it hadn't ended well; "Zartan killed-" and his head was separated from his body.

    "Calvert, go debrief with Scarlett. I'm assigning Snake Eyes to your protective detail."

#

Storm Shadow watched the recording as Cobra Commander cackled.

    "As long as he does not know, you are safe my friend."

    "And if he finds out?" Zartan was uneasy, but the confession he had so casually admitted right before was burned into Storm Shadow's mind.

    "Then Dr. Mindbender's machine can keep my ninja tractable."

    "It's my neck if you're wrong." The recording froze and his target steepled his fingers.

    "There is more but I believe you have what you needed." The man was too smooth. "And it releases you from your oath to Cobra Commander."

    "And why shouldn't I kill you anyway?" Storm Shadow tested, although it was a clever way for the man to try to keep his head attached.

    "Because the Arashikage are well-known for honour towards their clients. I would like to hire you for a commission." Holding his hands up to show there were no weapons, he slowly opened a drawer in the desk and took out a slip of paper. He slid it across the desk by his fingertips.

    There were two names written on it. Under his mask, Storm Shadow smiled.

#

    Sitting in a room Snake Eyes had vetted for security, with the G.I.Joe ninja himself keeping watch was the safest Calvert had felt since hearing Storm Shadow had been sent after him. His own evacuation attempts were not good memories. The emergency escort had rushed him to the helicopter, blades already turning. He wasn't taking any - the blow struck through his kevlar. As that reality had ended, he could only curse the ninja. Who used arrows nowadays? He'd seen video of Snake Eyes catching those same arrows, so he shouldn't die that way again.

    Burning his assets to get to the Pit was a waste, but if events played out as he planned they could be recovered. If they didn't, then he'd still be alive and he could always rebuild. While he waited for Scarlett to arrive for the debrief, Calvert was writing a list of all the accounts and fronts he had found Cobra using. Aside from the ones he had already emptied for his new war chest. 

#

By one name, Storm Shadow wrote a number, with commas and many zeros. By the other he scribed a single circle. Coil read it without taking it back and nodded.

    "The funds will be in the Arashikage's standard Swiss Escrow service by tomorrow. Half released on acceptance. Half on completion. On completion I will have further commissions for you."

    "And you're sure I will take them?" Storm Shadow asked, not quite seriously.

    "They are nothing that you would find too onerous, and nothing that will stop your clearing your name." Coil was too knowing. "I'm changing the direction of the organisation. Terrorism is such an outdated way to gain power, but I know the old guard will object."

#

    "Lieutenant?" Scarlett questioned as she sat. Calvert smiled as best he could. How the hell had that Cobra ninja known he used body doubles?

    "A nominal rank. I'm ex-mil undercover," he explained, summarising the difference between his age and rank as quickly as possible.

    "Why was Storm Shadow sent after you?"

    "I don't know." Calvert answered, allowing his very real frustration to show. "Either politics or paranoia." He'd been very careful, given Cobra Commander no reason to suspect him this time, and the paranoid idiot had sent Storm Shadow anyway. Scarlett chuckled.

    "You think of anything that might have triggered it?"  

    "I came into contact with the plans for his personal security." Scarlett and Snakes Eyes leaned forward, and he smirked. His position was happily cemented. Scarlett laughed.

    "That's more than enough for him to kill over." If Cobra Commander had known, it would be, but that reality no longer existed. He also had the Commander's itinerary, location, and plans for the next six months. Send Storm Shadow after him and Coil would send the Joes back in return. If he couldn't use Cobra as a platform, he would use its destruction as a stepping stone.

#

    "If you were requested to kill, say Major Bludd, or the Dreadnoks...?" Storm Shadow grinned wolfishly under the hood. Coil obviously knew it as the tells through the fabric of the black mask showed much the same expression.

    "So I'll make sure to leave them alive until I get paid." Coil actually chuckled.

    "So am I now a client of the Arashikage clan?" Storm Shadow sat on the edge of the desk, holding the paper, and considered carefully.

#

Twenty-four hours later, one reality ended.


	16. Trauma Trigger

**Trauma Trigger**

What the hell? Where the hell was I? One flash of light and I wasn't at work any more, but where the hell I was...I had a meeting in five minutes, I had to get back - My heart sank as I looked round.

    This looked like a school, a grim one. Graffiti and gang tags, even if I didn't recognise the gangs. What kind of school allows this? Rows of lockers down the side of the corridor, like something from the fifties or those grim school dramas from the US.

There was no one in sight, so no one saw me turn up. I listened, catching something that could be a fant sob on the edge of hearing. I walked towards it cautiously, swallowing in distaste at the vague stink. 

    "Hello?" I tried. That wasn't my voice. Since when did I have a US accent? There was a sudden scream from the locker in front of me. I recoiled as the please for help began. Someone was trapped in there. Those lockers were tiny. What the hell kind of school was this, and why the hell had no one shut it down? Down to me to be the responsible adult.  

    "Keep talking, just keep talking." I pulled the door, but the padlock was shut and through the bolt. Someone had locked her in. 

    "Don't panic. I'll get help." She banged on the door, muffled, screaming for me not to leave. Christ, who could do that to a kid? I went through my pockets, trying to find a phone. Locked. Crap. It wouldn't even let me call 999. 

    "It's locked. What's the combination?" She screamed something that could be words and made no sense. Desperately I tried to lever the padlock off. No chance. Even with my foot up against the next door, I couldn't get the leverage to force the bolt. "Kick the door." I shouted through the grill, trying not to breath the smell. Had she soiled herself? "First number!" The series of loud bangs rattled out and stopped. Not a stupid girl, thank god. I turned the tumbler fast. "Next number?" More banging. "And the next?" 

    "What do you think you're doing?" a man shouted, just as I turned the last tumbler. The lock sprung open and the door gave way, catching me in the face. A body fell into me and I caught her on reflex, gagging at the smell as we both ended up in a pile on the floor, covered in something indescribable.

    She was clawing at me, but not as strong as me. I pulled her into me, hugged her as she sobbed and struggled. The man at the end of the corridor was staring, his janitor's uniform just clear at the distance. Good. Authority.  

    "Get the fucking Principal, now!" I shouted, and the janitor dropped his mop and fled. She finally ran out of energy, and I stroked her hair, trying to sooth her as my free hand pulled bits out of it. Tampons, what sick fuck would do that? As her grip slakened, I got my first look at her. Long dark hair, pale skin, a slightly wide mouth. She looked familiar, no, it couldn't be...and then she managed a word, gasped from a throat torn from screaming. 

    "Sophia?" I took my first real look at myself as her eyes rolled up and she fainted.

    Oh.

    Fuck. 

 

\--

A particularly clueless OC/Insert in the body of Sophia at the worst possible time. Not sure I'll continue it.


	17. Unfortunate Powers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some powers should not be co-opted into the Wards...

"I can't join the Wards." I stared in horror at the Director. She stared back unmoved.

    "Your father's signed the paperwork. You don't have a choice."

    "You don't understand." I protested desperately. "It's dangerous." She sneered, obviously assuming I was a coward. It wasn't dangerous for me. I was making a bad first impression, but I didn't like her either.

    "Not as dangerous as being on your own. In Brockton Bay especially, young parahumans are at risk of being forced into gangs-"

    "I'd rather be in a gang. It would be-" I interrupted. Piggot's glare turned icy. 

    "You want to be a villain? You're lucky your father has better sense."

    "No!" I put my hand's flat on the desk, leaned over. "Director, I'm begging you, you have to tear up that paperwork."

    "No. Live with it."

    "I'm not the one that-"

    "Enough!" she projected her voice over mine. "Gallant, take her down and introduce her to the Wards. And warn them to keep their masks on." She sneered the last. I stood up, lowering my head.

    "Please, listen-" She dismissed me, shuffling her papers, and Gallant took my arm to lead me outside. I heard her snort as the office door closed.  

    "Teen drama." Why didn't anyone ever listen to me? I followed Gallant down the corridor, guilty already even though nothing had happened yet.

    "Are you alright?" He'd stopped in the corridor, by the Wards door. 

    "I am very, very, sorry." I said, just to get it on record.

    "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad." He smiled encouragingly. It was such a shame he was so nice. Maybe I had time to run. 

    "My power is a problem-" The door began to open. 

    "Don't worry. That's what power testing's for, to help people like you control it." My power wasn't controllable. I kept trying to tell them, but no one listened.

    "I didn't get your Cape name." I sighed, too late, as he gestured me ahead of him.

    "Black Cat."

 

\--

 _I keep seeing fics where Taylor gets forced into the Wards, and thought it would be funny if they did this with a power that really shouldn't be._ _She'd be lucky - the people who forced her in there and kept crossing her path... Even in the UK where black cats are lucky, being unkind to one brings bad luck.  
_


	18. Forked Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max Anders cannot accept his ex-wife's new boyfriend, and he'll use all the power at his disposal to take him down.

**Forked Lightning**

 

Max Anders put the phone down. Kayden's new beau was a problem. It was bad enough that his ex-wife had replaced him, but that she had done it with someone in the same social circles was an insult. He was supposed to be her ticket to status and respect, her only chance to be something more than an obscure designer. When she'd turned up at the Mayor's Gala on the arm of that alleged CEO, he'd wanted to hit her. At first he'd been convinced she'd chosen the man just to get back at him for Nessa and Jess, but when his inferior had to gall to smile and say Kayden had traded up, and have the Mayor's wife giggle delightedly and go to spread the rumours...

            Hookwolf demanded Kayden's boyfriend's death for insulting the Empire and Max had been pleased to agree, with orders to make it ignominous, painful, and public. Whatever had brought the CEO out of his protective obscurity, it would be completely understandable that the Empire should make an example of this living affront to their beliefs. Anders had even set aside funds to buy the firms out, saving the jobs of the right sort of people, while cementing his holding on another sector of the city.

            He didn't understand why the plan was failing, and this was becoming frustrating. He'd sent Cricket to the man's house, but somehow he had been warned and hadn't been there. Trying to hit his corporate HQ had failed, his spies barred from any sensitive information. He was certain they hadn't been detected, but they hadn't been able to access anywhere useful.

            When Hookwolf had seen the man out walking with what was presumably his bodyguard, he had attacked, and now Hookwolf was in PRT custody due to a trap set by Ms Militia and Armsmaster. It was only then he'd thought to check, and sure enough among the government construction works were PRT contracts.

And now Kayden had defied him over Aster and Theo. He had to break this up before Kayden slipped his grasp completely. Establishment to the core, the boyfriend actually had the funds to fight Max in court, doubtless why she had attached herself to him. She had already been coached, it was obvious from the wording, trying to set verbal traps for him that he believed he had evaded. In the photo frame on his desk, blades sprouted as he watched, slicing the image of their wedding apart into strips.

 

#

 

Kayden finished dusting the blush on her cheeks and checked herself in the mirror. She'd do. "Theo, there's $30 on the table, get yourself some food and a film."

            "Sure." The reply came from the living room, where he was playing with Aster on the floor. Kayden smiled, about to say something, and the doorbell rang. She paused, swallowed, and Theo looked up. He was almost smiling. "You look great." Encouraged, she drew herself up and opened the apartment door. Her date was waiting, suited, smart, but the lines in his face were deeper.

            "Are you okay? You look tired." That was not how she was supposed to greet him. Max would have taken it badly, but he smiled.

            "Bad day at the office." He gave her a peck on the cheek and produced a bouquet of flowers from behind his back. Roses and asters, and she smiled as she smelt the sweet scent. Standing aside she let him in and shut the door. "New information, so I had to revise my plans."

            "Max phoned," she said, wanting to get it out of the way as she found a vase and slid the flowers in. "I told him what we agreed."

            "Good. Did you record it?" She nodded, still feeling like a traitor. He put his arm round her.       "Well done. I know it's hard, but it is for Aster."

            "Yes. For Aster. And Theo."

            "Given his age, Theo gets his own representation, and a say in court over who he lives with," he said, smoothly. She heard the sudden, hopeful, gasp from the next room. "Trust me and you'll get custody of both. If Theo wants." She smiled, wondering how she'd been so lucky to get a man like this in her life. A better person than Max by far, and someone who could actually fight him. "Anyway, f-forget about Max. What do you want for Christmas?"

            "Max out of my life, custody of Aster and Theo, a wonderful partner..." she trailed off, wondering if she was too forward, but he smiled.

            "One thing at a time."

            "What would you like?" she asked, hoping she wouldn't put him off. He pulled back and gave her an exaggerated look up and down from top to bottom. She giggled, feeling like a girl again instead of a mother of two.

            "One thing at a time," she joked, and wondered how she'd come so far from the Empire ideals she'd even consider this. He smirked and produced two tickets to the exclusive opening of the new design gallery.

            "Ready, Kayden?" He offered an arm. She threaded hers through his, enjoying the contrast of his dark fingers as they lay across her pale skin.

            "Certainly, Thomas."

\--

_I keep seeing Grue/Kayden matches, but he's borderline underage and she's twelve years older. A Kayden/Calvert match puts her with someone Max can really hate in his civilian ID because Calvert's success as CEO directly contradicts the Empire's ideology - and who can be an actual threat, unlike Grue. What does Calvert get? A flying Blaster 8, and two potential third generation capes. And a dating life._


End file.
